


beautiful trauma

by lazyfish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-09-22 07:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17055647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish
Summary: Huntingbird ficlets cross-posted from tumblr. :)





	1. "things you said in a hotel room"

“You know, I’m not expecting you to have all the answers.” Hunter is propped up in the hotel bed, staring at Bobbi from across the room. She has a towel wrapped around her hair and is pulling on her clothes to cover the raw redness of skin she’s spent too long scrubbing. They could wash away the grime and the blood, but no amount of hot water will change what happened.

“I know,” Bobbi says shortly, tugging a pair of sweatpants up her legs. They’re his, so they’re just a smidge too short, and Hunter wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He doesn’t, though - just waits for Bobbi to finish dressing. She falls into bed beside him, immediately moving to burrow her face into his chest. 

Hunter wraps his arms around her, staying quiet. This had sucked for him, but she’s left behind the organization that shaped over a decade of her life, and he has no idea what that feels like. He can’t empathize, but he can be here. Hunter can be patient when he really wants to be, and right now? He definitely wants to be. He knows the next few days will shape his future with Bobbi, and he doesn’t want to mess that up.

“I should have seen this coming,” she whispers.

“Hey.” He squeezes her. “You couldn’t have predicted this. No one could’ve.” Bobbi makes a soft noise, and Hunter squeezes her tighter. “I still think we made the right choice.”

“I know we did,” she agrees. “Still hurts like a motherfucker.”

Hunter allows himself a chuckle, but the sound feels grating in his throat. “It does.”

“At least we’re together.” Hunter almost chokes on his own saliva, he’s so surprised. He had been thinking the same thing since he had been moved to the interrogation room to be with her, but he hadn’t ever considered that Bobbi would admit to being glad for his presence.

His mind is running a mile a minute trying to formulate an appropriate response when Bobbi speaks again. “I’m glad it’s you.”

The words seem like they carry more weight than just being appreciative of having a partner in crime, and Hunter wonders if it’s wrong of him to be so utterly speechless.

“It’s you,” Bobbi repeats. She shifts, turning her face up towards him. She looks incredibly vulnerable, unidentifiable emotions swirling in her clear blue eyes.

“Not really understanding you, love,” Hunter admits. “What’s me?”

Bobbi shrugs. “Does it really matter?” She asks, and the moment of openness vanishes.

Hunter decides not to push it. Like he’d said, he doesn’t need her to have all the answers - or to share the ones she does have. “Nope.”

“Good,” she declares, closing the space between them to kiss him. “We should sleep. We leave early tomorrow.”

“I’ll be happy to leave this hellhole behind.” Even if their Russian hotel room is nice, Hunter doesn’t think he can get out of this godforsaken country fast enough.

Bobbi kisses him again, unexpectedly. “A hellhole for the hellbeast,” she says with a teasing smile.

“Not leaving you,” Hunter chastises, nuzzling her cheek.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”


	2. happiness is a firecracker sitting on my headboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hunter doesn't remember it's Father's Day, but he's going to get a surprise all the same.

“Babe, there’s something for you on the table,” Bobbi says as Lance walks down the stairs on Sunday morning. He raises an eyebrow, surprised that he’s gotten any mail. They just moved into the new house earlier this month, so the chances of something noteworthy coming in seems small. But, if Bobbi’s telling him about it, Lance figures it must be more than junk mail.

(He doesn’t realize what day it is. He stopped keeping track a long, long time ago.)

There’s only one thing on the table – a plain white envelope. Lance isn’t sure how Bobbi knew it was supposed to be for him, because there’s not any writing on it. It’s nondescript in a way that’s almost unnerving.

He opens the envelope anyways, and a card slides out. He reads the front of it. Blinks. Reads it again. Drops it on the table. His heart feels like it’s about to crack his ribs, it’s pounding so hard.

He turns around to see Bobbi standing in the entrance to the kitchen, her arms crossed across her chest. Her blue eyes are wide and hopeful, and she gives him a tentative smile.

“Really?” He asks, taking a step towards her. His knees feel like they’re about to buckle, and his hands are shaking. Actually, his whole body’s shaking, but it doesn’t feel bad the way nerves normally do. Lance wants so badly for this to be real, but a part of him is afraid it’s just a dream.

“Yeah,” Bobbi says, voice choked. “Really.”

He takes another step towards her, and another, until there’s no space at all between them. Lance lifts Bobbi up in his arms, twirling them both around as a laugh bubbles out of his chest, taking some of the butterflies in his stomach with it. Lance doesn’t stop spinning until he’s too dizzy to stand straight, and Bobbi leans into him when he finally puts her feet back on the ground, her entire body flush against his. Lance doesn’t let go of her – doesn’t know if he’ll  _ever_  be able to let go of her.

“I’m going to be a dad?” Reality still hasn’t quite sunk in, and he’s not sure he wants it to. Lance has never felt like this before; nothing so small has ever made him feel so  _happy_.

“You’re going to be a dad.” Bobbi laughs breathlessly, squeezing him tightly. He leans back just enough to press a soft, sweet kiss to her lips, still smiling like an idiot.

“Happy Father’s Day, Lance.”


	3. "i made dinner! surprise!"

There are very, very few rules in the Morse-Hunter household. It works out better that way, because whenever rules get broken, it leads to arguments, and Bobbi and Hunter argue enough as it is without giving themselves more reason to.

There is, in fact, only one rule: Bobbi does not make dinner.

It would be funny, how bad she was at cooking, if Hunter didn’t have to eat the resulting product, and pretend that he liked it. He loves Bobbi, he really does, but someone can only get food poisoning so many times before putting his foot down.

When he walks through the door to their apartment and smells something cooking (actually,  _burning_  would be a more accurate term), Hunter groans. One rule! They only had  _one_  rule! And she broke it!

Bobbi’s blustering around the kitchen, obviously overwhelmed, when Hunter steps into the doorway.

“Honey, I’m home,” he greets her, dropping his duffel onto the floor.

“Hunter!” Bobbi’s voice is a half-octave higher than normal. “Hi! I made dinner. Surprise!” She says, gesturing to the chaos around her. The oven is smoking, there’s more pasta on the floor than in the pot on the stove, and there’s a bandage wrapped around Bobbi’s hand that suggests she managed to cut herself while chopping veggies.

This is why she’s not allowed to make dinner.

“I can see that,” Hunter says with an attempt at a smile. “Do you want some help?” 

“No!” Bobbi retorts, grabbing a pot holder and opening the still-smoking oven. “I have to learn to do this eventually, right?” She asks, withdrawing something that could have been lasagna or salmon - it’s burnt beyond all recognition.

“Love, the time to learn to cook is not when I’m on a mission and not able to help.” Hunter crosses the kitchen to shut off the oven for her, pulling the pasta off the stovetop as well. As expected, it’s basically mush at this point.

Bobbi pouts at him. “Is it really so bad that I want to surprise my husband with a nice, home-cooked meal at the end of a hard day?”

Hunter snorts. “If I wanted to marry a housewife, Bob, I would’ve done it. But I like you much better.”

Hunter’s surprised when Bobbi sniffles, turning to wrap her arms around him. “Do you really mean that?”

He nods emphatically. “I don’t need you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, Bob.” Her nose wrinkles at the description. “That wasn’t a hint!” He rushes to assure her. “But seriously, Bobbi. I married you because you could kill me with your pinkie finger, not because you can make steak tartare.” 

“You’re so weird,” Bobbi laughs.

“I’m not the one who married me,” Hunter teases back.

“No, that would be me.” She smiles. “Now, husband of mine… please make something edible?”

Hunter grins at her. “As you wish.”


	4. "let's do this again next year"

“Hunter. Why the fuck are you calling?”

“It’s our anniversary!”

“It’s the anniversary of our  _divorce_.”

“Still an anniversary, Bob.”

“Normal people don’t celebrate that shit, Hunter.”

“Yes, because our relationship was always normal.”

“…”

“Ha! You don’t have a sassy retort!”

“I’m not  _sassy_ , Hunter, I’m -”

“Bitchy? Anal retentive? Rude?”

“I was going to say honest.”

“Can you hear the face I’m making?”

“Do you even know how senses work? I can’t hear faces.”

“Well then I’ll describe it for you. Total and utter disbelief.  _Honest_ , Barbara? As I recall, the reason we got a divorce in the first place -”

“Yes, yes, I don’t tell you anything, secrets are smothering, et cetera. I listened the first time you gave me the speech.”

“Obviously not very well, or we’d still be married.”

“You know what? I’m going to let that slide, because it’s our anniversary.”

“So you agree that it’s an anniversary now?”

“Yes, Hunter. We can get a cake and everything. I’ll ask them to write - oh, this is a good message: ‘Thank God I Divorced That Idiot’. The people at the bakery’ll love it.”

“Bobbi!”

“Hey, you started it.”

“You wouldn’t buy a cake. You don’t even like cake.”

“We’ve been over this. I like cake, just not carrot cake.”

“Carrot cake tastes good!”

“I thought you, of all people, Hunter, would think that putting a vegetable in a cake is ungodly.”

“Is there even carrot in carrot cake?”

“How am I supposed to know!? I don’t eat that stuff.”

“…Fair.”

“Hunter, it’s like three in the morning. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay. Let’s do this again next year.” 

“I’m not calling you on the anniversary of our divorce every year.”

“But if I call you, will you pick up?”

“If I feel like it.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait until next year to see, huh?”

“Yeah, guess I will.”

“…”

“Did you hang up on me?”

“…”

“She hung up on me!”


	5. the letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "thank you for marrying me". Major character death in this chapter!

Dear Lance, **  
**

If you’re getting this letter, I guess the worst has happened. I’m sorry for not listening when you told me not to die out there, but I’m sure you’re going to be angry about it anyways. That’s okay. And if you’re not angry? That’s okay, too. Feel whatever you want to feel, but promise me that you’ll feel something. I don’t want you to lose yourself on my account.

I didn’t really want to write this letter, but Clint keeps telling me that if something does happen, you’ll appreciate having the reminder. I keep forgetting that even if I’m alive now, I won’t be when you read this, so it’s - it’s weird to write, you know? I really hope that you didn’t have one of these written up if something were to happen to you, because that just… sucks. This whole thing sucks a lot, because I know that if I am - God, I can’t even write the word. How pathetic is that? Anyways, if I am… gone, then you’ll just want a bottle. Please don’t drink yourself to death, Lance. Please. You deserve to have a life after me, even if it doesn’t feel that way now.

Life with you has not always been easy, and I’d be lying if I said I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, but I love you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes. I love waking up next to you and I love coming home to you and I love eating breakfast with you on Saturday morning. I love your accent and your stubble and your dimples. Even when I hate you, I love you. I know I don’t say it enough, and I’m sorry. But don’t forget it.

Thank you for marrying me. You are not the perfect husband, but I am not a perfect wife. We are not perfect people, but I found so much joy in being imperfect with you. I hope that maybe someday, after I’m gone, you’ll be able to find someone whose flaws match yours the way mine do - or maybe even better.

I wish I could’ve given you more. More love, more time, more words, more anything. But this is the end.

I love you. Don’t die out there.

Bobbi


	6. i hope you get your dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Hunter get Mack a wedding gift.

“It happened!”

“It happened!?” Bobbi poked her head out of the bedroom, and Hunter turned the screen of the laptop to face her. 

“Marriage certificate filed for Alphonso R. Mackenzie and… Elena N. Rodriguez,” Hunter confirmed, pausing only to squint at the name on the second line of the certificate.

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Bobbi plopped down on Hunter’s lap, commandeering the laptop so she could open a search for Mack’s new wife.

“You’re really weird, you know that?” Hunter asked as Bobbi began scouring the search results.

“Yeah, whatever.” Bobbi pulled the laptop even closer, focused on her new task. Hunter rolled his eyes, shoving Bobbi off his lap so he could make them both breakfast.

“Do you think he expects a wedding gift?” Hunter began rummaging in the refrigerator.

“She’s an Inhuman!” Bobbi’s response had nothing to do with Hunter’s question, but she looked pleased with herself. 

“Get it, Mack.” Hunter smiled approvingly. “Wonder what she does. You know, I always did wonder if Daisy’s powers -”

“Babe,” Bobbi interrupted. “Don’t go there. Anything about her powers has been redacted.” 

Hunter pouted. “So, wedding gift?”

“Wedding gift,” Bobbi agreed. “God help us trying to get it to him, but…”

“We’ll figure it out.” Hunter smiled. “We always do.”

\---

“Mack?” Elena shuffled into the bedroom, holding a large cardboard box. “Do you know a Hartley family? They sent us a package.”

Mack looked up from the paper he was studying, blinking. “It could be an alias for some people I used to know.” He paused. “Bobbi and Hunter.”

Elena nodded, setting the box on the bed beside Mack. “Do you want to open it?”

Mack weighed his options before nodding. Elena went to go get the box knife, leaving Mack to study the handwritten label. The handwriting definitely was Bobbi’s.

Elena came back, handing the knife to Mack so he could open the box.

Nothing exploded, which was a good sign.

There was a piece of paper on top of a mound of bubble wrap, and Mack read it aloud to Elena. “Congrats on the nuptials. We thought your wife might be curious about what you looked like when you still had hair. Hopefully these photos do it justice.” Mack paused, swallowing hard. “We hope we get to meet her someday, Mack. Miss you terribly…” He didn’t read the signature, just turned the paper so Elena could see that his suspicions were confirmed.

Elena lifted the bubble wrap away to reveal a large leather photo album. She took it out of the box, but didn’t open it, waiting for Mack’s signal.

He nodded, and she opened the cover to reveal a photo of Mack, about twenty years younger, talking to a tall blonde. Her eyes flicked over the caption.  _ Alphie makes a friend on his first day at the Academy _ .

“That’s Bobbi,” Mack supplied, almost unnecessarily. “I forgot about that picture.”

Elena tucked herself into Mack’s side, and they flipped through the photo album together.

(Mack only had hair in a few of the photos. Elena felt lied to.)

**Author's Note:**

> find me [on tumblr](https://huntxngbxrd.tumblr.com)!


End file.
